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The Call
A Story by Stephen R. Clark
It was a noisy location but
convenient and close, taking only 20 minutes walking time to reach. Coming here
was the only way he could secure privacy. Complete privacy was necessary for the
secrets they shared during these special moments.
The booth was set off the street next to a grocery store across from the
factory. The inside of the booth was riddled with notes, obscenities, and
forgotten phone numbers. One was hers. It was deeply and neatly etched into the
metal shelf below a name that had been partially scratched away. The only
letters still legible were MI. Mia? Michelle? Millie? Miranda?
He fed the coins to the phone and waited for it to play her voice. His heart
beat hard and his ear was ringing rhythmically until interrupted by a sharp
click followed by her soothing machine-hued voice.
"I'm sorry, but this line is no longer in service. Please make a note of
it. Thank you. This is a recording."
Then there were a series of clicks followed by the sad hum of dial tone and
the clink of his coins being returned.
Quickly he retrieved the change and slipped it once again into the slot with
moist nervous fingers and managed to punch in the same number.
Then he waited, impatient and excited, for her sweet digitized voice to touch
his pealed ears again and again and again as the sun set and the moon rose.
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